


Two Against One

by UptheBoards



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas Stars, M/M, New York Rangers, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UptheBoards/pseuds/UptheBoards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All mistakes are owned by me, but these guys STILL are not. Not affiliated, not representing, etc.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are owned by me, but these guys STILL are not. Not affiliated, not representing, etc.

It’s not necessarily against the rules to consort with the enemy, but it’s definitely frowned up. Lucky for James, he has no obligation to share his whereabouts with anyone. After the Pens had won their series against New York, it had been decided that they would stay an extra day in New York to unwind before starting preparations for the next round. There is that famous saying about all work and no play after all. So after they had made the bus trip back to the city, everyone had scattered this way and that to various favourite restaurants and hotspots. James had however ducked each invitation, even Brenden’s, in favour of his own plans. 

“Do you wanna go be a tourist in the big city?” Brenden had asked, pushing James against the thin hotel wall before licking down the column of his neck. What he really meant was “Do you wanna go to a dive bar and make-out in public?” As enticing as the offer was, James had an old friend in the city that he was way overdue to visit. “Sorry Captain, I’m wiped, gonna stay in and hit the sheets.” Brenden scoffs, “And you say I’m the old man.” Brenden uses the wall to push off of James and heads to the door. Though a night in with James would be enjoyable, he knows there will be many more and the bonding time with the other guys is hard to pass up. “Breakfast?” Brenden asks. James nods. “Sleep well, love you Kid,” he says before pressing a chaste kiss to James’ lips and leaves. 

James stands there well after the door has closed and Brenden’s footsteps have faded away. “Love you?” James says out loud to himself. Sure Brenden has said it before, but in a much more conversational and usually hockey related way. He scrubs a hand over his face and pushes it to the back of his mind, “Worry about it later,” he thinks. He changes clothes and then changes again. He has to look good, has to look like he has grown up. He thinks about wearing his favourite plaid suit, but opts for something a little more “casual cool” as they say. James chooses a white button up with a deep purple checkered tie and a smoky grey cardigan buttoned over top with dark fitted jeans and polished black leather shoes. He finishes it all off with a Pirates snapback - his hair is a bit wild. James fusses with his tie nervously, was he trying too hard? His phone rings indicating the taxi has arrived and it’s too late now. James scrubs a hand over his face and grabs his black peacoat before heading out.

James pauses at the penthouse door, his hand raised to knock and mumbles “What am I doing here?” He raps quietly a few times before he can think about why he’d really chosen to come. “Nealer!” Comes a shout as the door opens and he’s being pulled into a bone-crushing hug as a solid body collides with his own. James doesn’t even need to see the other man to know it’s him. He breathes deep and lets all the apprehension about his visit slide off in waves. The two men stay connected longer than what’s deemed appropriate for rivals, but it doesn’t bother either. “Brad Richards,” he purrs as they slowly untangle.

James takes a few steps back so that he can finally get a look at his former Stars teammate. What it took James an hour to do, Brad is doing effortlessly. The other man is dressed casually, obviously not expecting company, but he still looks like he could fit in with nearly any upscale crowd. Brad is dressed in a light blue dress shirt that skirts the muscular cut of his body and contrasts a rich tan skin exposed by rolled up sleeves. James doesn’t count, but at least the top three buttons are also open and exposing freckled collarbones. On the bottom he’s wearing tight black jeans that skim the tops of his bare feet. James smiles, Brad: always the islander at heart. “It’s good to see you James, are you staying?” Brad steps back into the condo, holding the door and sweeping his arm across the entrance dramatically. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Brad follows James into the condo and takes his coat, hanging it in amongst his own in the hall closet. James watches him do it and wonders it's an indication of how long the visit would be, as the garment wasn't casually tossed on the back of a chair. Or he's still over analyzing. James waits for Brad to lead, then sticks to his friend's heels and as they go, he pulls on a stray strand of hair curled at Brad’s nape. He hadn’t ever seen the centre with hair that long and a beard that thick. “You look like a lumberjack,” James blurts out. Brad laughs, loud and hard and James again smiles when he sees the crinkles form at the corners of those warm hazel eyes. “We have that in common right now,” Brad says and reaches over, gently straightening James’ tie while they walk. “I see someone has finally convinced you to stop dressing like a frat boy at least. He says it with a wide grin. “Pittsburgh really looks good on you Nealer.”

Abruptly, Brad stops and steps into his space before cupping James’ face, rubbing a thumb over the stubble. James stumbles a little and grabs Brad’s hips to steady himself. “Can I?” Brad asks. James nods and Brad is pulling him into a searing kiss. “You never asked before,” James says when they part, not sure if he’s hurt or impressed. “I didn’t have to,” Brad replies simply. “What’s that mean?” James presses. “I haven’t seen you in two years, what do you think it means?” Brad moves away from him and into the kitchen. He holds out an uncorked wine bottle to James and the younger man nods. “I’m not seeing anyone, ” James says and sits down, “If that’s what you’re getting at.” Brad pushes a glass across the counter and they toast to something unsaid. “It wasn’t,” he says after a sip of his already half empty glass, “I just didn’t want to be rude.” James snorts, “Still a good Canadian boy, eh Richie?” Brad flashes him that perfectly imperfect smile that James loves so much. “Always, ya hoser!” Brad says it in his best exaggeration of an Eastern accent and they both laugh; this feels like the old times in Dallas. James has too many memories of sitting in Brad’s sun filled kitchen chatting, him usually perched on one side of the island and Brad on the other side trying to teach James not only to cook, but how to live the life the right way. The conversation flows easily and so does the wine.

“Heard an interesting rumour about you Nealer,” Brad says when there is a lull. James shifts a bit and adjusts his sweater sleeve, smoothing a wrinkle where it’s rolled up at his elbow. “Oh yah?” James tries not to act too interested. “Mhmmm,” the other man hums. Brad has back to James, he’s busily preparing some appetizer that James can't even begin to pronounce or even remember the name of. He’d said that he hadn’t made it before and there were no promises about the taste, but James’ mouth is already watering. He drinks in the sight before him; it’s not just the food. The muscles moving in Brad's back, a dusting of flour on his pants . . .

“And?” James says, forcing himself to focus when he realizes Brad hasn’t offered anything else to the conversation. “And what?”  
“What’s the rumour, you asshole,” James presses, starting to get irritated. Brad still doesn’t say anything conclusive, but he does turn around with an array of serving dishes in his hands and balanced dangerously on his forearms. When James gets up to help, Brad sidesteps him, “I’ve seen you walk, it’s better this way,” Brad says and throws a smirk over his shoulder at the other man. “That was years ago, Richie, come on, let it go.” James grumbles.

Once, just once, he’d dropped a plate and Brad had never let him forget it. Sure it had been a plate of lobster tails and it had been at a team dinner during his rookie year, but still, old history. James was fairly certain he’d grown into his body since then.

Brad suggests they settle in the living room instead of at the table, no need for formalities, but James suspects it’s so they can watch TV. He’d heard it when he first came in, Brad has the Red Wings and Ducks game on, volume low, but easily distinguishable for a student of the game. The easy ebb and flow of their conversation returns with the game as anchor, but it doesn’t last.

“Are you and Mini fucking?” Brad asks suddenly. “Excuse me?” James stutters, the wine he’d just choked on creating a lump in his throat. “That’s what I heard,” Brad says with a shrug, “that’s the rumour.”

“From who?” James has sat up a bit, moving away from his previous position tucked in against Brad’s side.

“It doesn’t matter Nealer, but I’ve been asked about it by more than one person.” Brad continues to eat, as if this is a conversation about the daily news. “What did you say?” James is trying to keep the panic out of his voice, but it’s nearly impossible. People know. Somehow everyone knows.

“What do you think I said?” Brad frowns at him, “I said you two are just old friends, was that a lie?”

“No,” James says definitively. It’s not completely a lie to Brad, there isn’t anything else between him and Brenden, and it’s just fucking. Brad squeezes his knee, he can still read the younger man’s emotions and he knows James is shutting down and closing up. “Still haven’t managed to contain your temper, eh?”

“Shut up, Richards.” James hisses and pushes his hand away, “You still haven’t managed to learn how not to piss me off.”

Brad laughs and holds his glass out to James, “To not changing.” He tips it in James direction before taking a large swallow of the dark liquid. James responds with a slow roll of his eyes. “Why is anyone asking you about me anyways?” He puts a little much emphasis on ‘you’ almost like it’s an insult, but Brad just shrugs. James wonders if Brad has clarified exactly what type of relationship they’d developed in Dallas for his Ranger teammates. He doesn’t question Brad on it, he’d kept his side of the deal so there shouldn’t be much a reason to expect the other man hadn’t.  
“You wanna see the place?” Brad asks, desperate to change the conversation and sour mood the night had taken. “You’ve never been here before.” James nods enthusiastically and he pretends he doesn’t hear the tang of regret in Brad’s voice.

“It’s not as nice as the old house, or yours from what I’ve heard, but this is New York,” he says while he stands. “Next time you’re in the Burgh, eh?” James bumps his shoulder against Brad’s. “Consider it booked if I get to have breakfast with Martin too.” James groans and throws his head back dramatically, but he can’t hide the pink blush colouring his neck. “You watched that?” 

“I think the entire league watched it Nealer, we all want to know The Real Deal,” He ends the sentence in what he thinks is Ryan Mill’s voice. “Not even close Broadway Brad, but I like how it sounds in your mouth.” Brad twists a little so he can see James better as they’re shoulder to shoulder, “Is that all?” James makes to hipcheck him lightly, but Brad turns towards James as he does. It’s not as bad as it could have been, but there’s a striking red blotch now decorating the centre of Brad’s chest. “Fuck, I-“ James doesn’t get the chance to overreact because Brad is laughing. He pulls the shirt out a bit from his body, “I probably should have known this wasn’t an appropriate colour choice around you!”

“Fuck Richie, I’ll pay for dry cleaning when I leave, ok?” James brow is furrowed, clearly not getting how unconcerned Brad is. James starts to get cagey, he suddenly feels uncomfortable, not sure of what to do with his hands or if he should still keeping drinking even. “We both know I’m not hurting for clothes James,” Brad says and wraps an arm around James’ back pulling him into his side. “Don’t act like this is a first date, it’s a shirt, who gives a fuck.” James chews the inside of his lip obviously gnawing on his guilt. Nothing like making an ass of yourself in front of a mentor. He lets Brad guide him to the bedroom so he can change.

James had made a mess on one of Brad’s suits once while they were waiting around after a game and he still remembered nearly every detail of the scene. James had asked Brad not wait for him as he wanted to spend extra time working on his shot so he was a bit surprised to see the centre sitting in his stall after he’d showered. His housemate was fully dressed in a coal black and immaculately tailored suit with a pearly grey tie and shining black leather shoes. Brad’s eyes had slowly raked up James’ body from his feet to his face before he’d tapped the face of an expensive looking watch. “I told you not to wait if you were going somewhere,” James had said while he shuffled across the plush locker room carpet. Brad usually didn’t look that put together unless he was in fact, going somewhere. 

“We are going somewhere,” Brad had corrected and pulled James down into his lap while simultaneously discarding the towel. Brad had then reached around him and started to jerk him off roughly with one hand on his cock and the other tight around his throat. Even then, still early in their relationship, James had put a great amount of trust in Brad, so he hadn't worried about things getting out of hand. Well, any more so than a rookie getting a hand job from the star centre in the locker room that had been full of media only 30 minutes prior. With James’ legs outside of his own, Brad had forced the rookie to open up until he whined in discomfort. Brad's fingers flex across the long column of his neck, feeling each soft noise that he rings from James' body vibrate through his skin. James wants to touch Brad, but the older man has his him pinned flush against his chest so he settles on gripping his own thighs when he realizes he can't even stretch enough to touch Brad's legs. It hadn’t taken long for James to start into a ragged and uncontrollable course of loud pants and moans. The farther gone he is, the less James remembers he is in public. He rolls his hips a few times against Brad's groin and into his fist and the extra sensation makes him cry out, loudly. Between the thrill of being caught and the fear of being helpless to do anything about it, he almost didn’t need the rough hand working his cock. The strong fingers seem to know every angle and twist that leave him breathless. “Brad,” he grits out when he feels the flutter in his stomach spreading outward like lightning.The grip tightens on his neck and James still doesn’t know if he’d actually blacked out or just imagined it, but everything goes dark as he comes. When he had opened his eyes, Brad has eased his hold on James’ throat and moved down to his chest so that he is holding James up. His other hand is rubbing small circles on his lower abdomen. “Get ready,” Brad says after they share a quick kiss and he is pushing at his back and James is forced to stand on shaking legs. “Where are you going?” James asks as Brad strides away, straightening his suit. “You came on my leg,” He says and turns around. James is horrified because sure enough, there is a stream of thick, white come emblazoned across the dark wool just above his knee. He starts to make apologies but Brad is laughing, unable to keep the falsely sour look on his face. “Not really sure what I expected would happen,” he says and pulls the pant leg up a bit, “I guess I should make a note about you and nice clothes from now on.” James huffs out a breath, “Please, don’t!” Brad is already walking away.


	2. Chapter 2

James is breathing hard when he comes out of his mind and back to reality. Fuck, the things you do as a rookie. His former teammate has left him standing stupidly in the doorway and is in front of a full length mirror, taking off his now stained shirt. Brad has his back to James and his head down as he undoes the buttons, so James crowds in behind the other man and reaches around him to guide the shirt off. Brad startles a little and snaps his head up to watch James in the mirror. “James. . .” he murmurs as a warning. Neither of them has ever been anything but all or nothing guys. There won’t be any stopping or going back. James pulls the shirt open, letting his fingertips dust across Brad’s collarbones as he follows the line of bone and then moves to the base of his neck. He applies a little pressure to Brad’s traps, massaging up and down. Brad leans into his touch and lets his head drop back on James’ shoulder. As James strokes back down his chest, he can feel the thrum of a moan that Brad bites off. James spreads his hands wide over as much flesh as possible.

“I missed this,” Brad mumbles, and James watches with fascination as the Adam’s apple in Brad’s throat quivers. “I missed you,” James whispers back, not trusting his voice not to break on a longer sentence. He slides his arms underneath Brad’s this time and continues to feel his way down the other’s body. He tries to map each section of flesh he’d forgotten. James gets dangerously low and he watches in the mirror as Brad’s gaze drifts down with his hands. He watches as Brad’s chest hitches when he follows along the cut of muscle at his hips. Lower, lower. . .

Brad turns around just as fingertips meet waistband and James huffs out a breath, impatient as always. The younger winger doesn’t try again, he instead feels across his friend’s broad chest and along his ribs until he can pull himself into Brad’s body, bringing their chests together. Their relationship had been easy; they really didn’t have to work at it at all. They’d been friends through their agent before James had moved in, so that obviously helped, but they really were very similar. 

Brad strokes a hand down the side of James’ stubbled jaw before letting it rest on the hinge, thumb aligned with his ear and fingertips buried in the exposed hair at his nape. He grips James’ elbow with his other arm and keeps them locked together. James is the first to move; he knows he has to be. He closes what little distance remains between them and kisses the other man. Brad hesitates, of course, but James is unfazed, he nips Brad’s bottom lip and when he gasps, James takes advantage. The kiss is deep and warm; so familiar even after all this time. It’s not desperate and questioning like the earlier one. Brad removes James' hat and throws it onto the bench at the foot of his bed. He threads his fingers fully into the other man's hair and forces them impossibly closer. He wants more of James, that will never change.

James pushes Brad’s shirt off entirely, only stopping to work it off his biceps when it gets caught there, fabric clinging to the taunt skin. “Is this one of yours?” James crows, a smirk splitting his face as he lets it fall to floor. He makes to lick Brad’s neck, but he slides the other way. “Maybe,” Brad says indignantly and picks it up before heading into his closet and placing the shirt in a linen bin. “I’m actually a little offended that you didn’t send me any samples Richie,” James says, leaning on the doorframe. The other man is silent for a while and James watches with eager eyes. Brad has loosed his belt and is slowly pulling it out, the worn leather sliding easily. James can't fight it anymore, fuck manners, and grinds a hand down into his groin. He remembers that belt - the sting and snap of it. 

“I’m not sure anything can help you at this point, I could only dress you for so long,” Brad says as he takes off his pants and places them into the bin as well. James barely even registers the words, he’s staring at the hard line now so clearly visible in Brad’s tight boxer briefs. “Yah,” he responds dumbly, licking his lips. 

“What you meant to say is that you’d rather I undressed you, right?” Brad strides up to him and pulls them together before palming James’ ass through his jeans. He cants his hips forward a few times into James’, just making sure the younger man can feel everything he’s been missing. Maybe a wool sweater and tie weren’t a good idea; James is starting to feel a little too hot. He pushes Brad away and quickly kneels down at his feet, spreading Brad’s legs as he sinks down so that his knees end up on the same line as Brad’s toes. 

James mouths at what he can only assume is not 100% cotton. He follows up the rigid line of Brad’s shaft to the head, breathing hot and heavy as he goes. When he gets to the tip, James looks up at Brad and makes a show of biting down on just the fabric and pulling it away from Brad’s skin. Even from this angle he can see the rapid rise and fall of his friend’s chest and he can see Brad’s abs working as he tries to control himself. James is going to do his best to change that. He works a hand under the leg band of Brad’s briefs and grabs onto the back of Brad’s thigh, digging into the tender skin right under his ass. “I saw your ESPN shot,” James breathes, while he drags blunt nails up and down Brad’s balls with his other hand. “And?” Brad asks, imitating James from earlier.

“OK I guess, helped get me off a few times.” James pulls off Brad’s underwear as he says it, ensuring they come off slowly enough that his prick snaps up against his stomach when the band slides down. Brad grumbles a little, probably embarrassed by the obscenity and reaches to stroke himself but James pushes him away. “Better in person,” the younger man says with a smug grin as he slowly starts to stroke from base to tip, purposely avoiding the head. There’s too much friction and James is a shade too rough, but Brad moans and tosses his head back anyway. James touches his tongue lightly on the slit of Brad’s cock, dipping into the pre-come pooling there. He pulls away slightly, letting Brad see the strings of salty fluid that connect them and then curls his tongue into his mouth. He does it a few more times, but on each subsequent touch, he applies a little more pressure and then finally takes the head into his mouth. He doesn’t go any further though; he sets up an agonizingly slow pace bobbing up and down as his lips slide just below the ring of furrowed muscle and back to the tip. James lets his tongue follow the natural path of the frenulum a few times, but he can’t resist swirling it over the slit again as well. When he feels strong hands fisting into his mop over grown curls, James looks up at Brad and swallows to the root. 

Brad bites down hard on his lip to stifle himself when he sees their image twined in the mirror. James is good with his mouth, almost too good. Brad will and has gotten off on just thinking about the things his ex-teammate can do with his tongue. He won’t last; he’s been keyed up since he opened the door. He lightly pushes James back then guides him up and eagerly licks into his mouth, tasting himself and James. There is something to be said about playoff beards and knowing without any doubt that you are kissing another man. Both men would agree that the stubble burn is more than worth it.

Brad draws away first and he pushes James back while still nipping along his jaw. They kiss again, messily, when the back of James’ knees hit the bed and he scoots backwards so Brad can straddle him. “You really do look great,” Brad says, voice gravelly. He grabs James by the tie and uses it to pull them together again. Brad starts to roll his hips a bit, rubbing his ass over James’ still clothed dick. James is uncomfortably hot. 

“I got you,” Brad says with a smile, “I wouldn’t want this to be the last time you dress up for me.” He peels each of James’ upper layers off, even the tie. Save that for another day. “Who said I did it for you?” James chirps. He receives a well-deserved swat to his thigh. Brad feels down James torso, fingers setting James’ nerves on fire, but he only unzips James’ jeans and pulls his cock out so that it lays against his stomach. “What if I hadn’t let you in?” Brad asks, smoothing over James’ balls, still trapped in the thick denim. James shrugs, “Then I’d have an easier time jacking myself off when I got back to the hotel.” Brad raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. 

“I knew what I was doing.” James says honestly and runs his hands down Brad arms. “I was hoping for. . .”He gets caught up halfway through his sentence when Brad takes his cock into his mouth and starts to bob. James fucking loves seeing Brad like this. That perfect pout pulled taunt over his length. The way that strong bow in Brad’s top lip reappears every time he feels the drag of teeth. “Fuck,” he stutters out and bucks up into Brad’s mouth. The centre takes it without much complaint, but the quick flash of hazel in his direction isn’t missed. James takes the opportunity to thread his hands into Brad’s auburn hair, holding him a trace too firmly. When Brad goes slack, James experimentally thrusts up into that wet heat. Brad mewls low in his throat and James remembers what that noise means. He fucks into Brad’s throat. Each time Brad gags, James can’t help but moan. So fucking perfect and it doesn’t help that Brad is fisting his own dick at the same time. James isn’t sure why he does it, he isn’t that guy, or that stupid, but he eases his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture as Brad’s nose hits his pelvis. Not surprisingly Brad hears the simulation shutter click and slides back off of James’ cock and onto his heels, swiping a hand across his mouth. He doesn’t say anything again, but the look he’s giving James is more than enough.

“I don’t know, I just want to be able to. . .“ James mumbles. “You can’t play the rookie card anymore, you know how this works,” Brad says, his tone tight and clipped. By “this,” Brad means them fucking. It never grows to anything more than them, always private, always a secret. “You don’t trust me,” James replies, making sure it lands as a statement. “I trust you,” Brad answers and then hesitates, not sure there is any inoffensive way to say what needs to be said. “But I don’t trust your locker room.” James scoffs and snaps another picture. “MY locker room? You’re friends with most of those guys.” Brad bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable with James pushing the issue. “I’d like to keep it that way, James.” Aside from the obvious, he knows why Brad reacted so strongly; the pressure in New York is so much greater than it was in Dallas or Tampa. Brad skates on very thin ice with the blue shirt faithful. James almost laughs when he thinks about Torts having to explain a ‘Brad Richards is gay’ scandal to the media.

“Just delete it before you leave,” Brad says softly and crawls up so that he can look James in the eyes. James responds predictably and rolls his eyes with a little huff. Brad reaches up and pushes the phone out of James’ hand so that slides off the bed and lands with a thud on hardwood. He tries to twist his head so that he can see the device, but a forceful grip on his jaw stops him. James knows he could overtake Brad, he was taller than the centre even in Dallas, but he hadn’t been this heavy and filled out – two long off-seasons with Robs would do that. 

“Understand, rookie?” James nods with a whine as Brad grips his cock a little painfully to punctuate the question. “Just fuck me already,” James grits out. “Before it gets past your bedtime.” He pushes at Brad shoulders, but the other man goes willingly after a hard bite to one of his nipples. James lifts his hips and Brad gets off the bed and yanks his jeans down, tossing them aside. James can hear him rifling in the bedside table before coming back, but he’s too busy squirming so he can grab his phone to be too concerned. That is until Brad is between his legs and is sliding two lube covered fingers inside him. “Fuck,” he curses, head dropping back onto the mattress. “I have to do something to keep your attention obviously,” Brad chides. James has a Candy Crush quip on the tip of his tongue, but Brad’s fingers meet his prostate and he cries out, back arching off the sheets. Brad keeps pressing at the buddle of nerves, carefully watching his former teammate until he knows he has the younger man teetering on the edge. He pulls his fingers out rapidly. James whines low in his throat, so keyed up he can’t barely chirp Brad about edging him.

“You have to cheat to make me come before you,” he husks before sitting up and forcing Brad down. He swings one of his legs over the centre’s hips and braces himself with two hands on either of his friend's broad shoulders. When James starts to position himself, Brad stops him, holding tight to the underside of his thighs to keep him from sliding down. “Are we not doing this?” James asks incredulously. Brad reaches for something unnoticed and James is being handed a condom. “No other way,” Brad says when James sits back, brow furrowed. The times they had done it without protection versus with probably had a 99-1 ratio. James tries not to think about the other people Brad has pushed down into the sheets, but a few names rest on his tongue. He doesn’t ask. He quickly tears it open with his teeth and rolls it down Brad’s shaft. “We good?” James asks, a bit of an edge creeps into his voice regardless of what he’d told himself. “You know I’m OK if you’re not into it,” Brad says, but James ignores the statement and seats himself entirely. The stretch isn’t bad, not any worse than Brenden. 

Fuck, Brenden. 

He braces himself on Brad’s shoulders again, repositioning his long legs so that his shins are flush to the mattress and starts to rock his hips. James keeps his head down, letting his hair hide how he has his eyes clamped close. He needs to clear his head. Brad initially doesn’t seem to notice, but after a few moments of just skin hitting skin in the near silence, he reaches out and gently tips James’ face forward. “Hey,” he says lightly when stormy blue eyes meet burning hazel. “It’s just a lot,” James answers. It is. James leans down and crushes their lips together. Teeth clicking together, noses jammed uncomfortably – it’s definitely not a kiss anyone would mention twice. James doesn’t know if he’s angrier with himself or Brad for letting things get like this. Two fucking years of only seeing each other across the red line. “I need this,” he whispers into the crook of his friend’s neck after they’ve pulled apart, breath coming in pants. There isn’t anything else to be said – Brad feels it too. James lets himself sink down so that they’re flush, chest-to-chest, when he feels the pressure of Brad’s hands on shoulder blades. Brad fucks into him; each thrust sharp and accented and James pushes back, matching each one. James eventually sits back up when there is too much sensation in too many places. He uses the opportunity to take another photo. “You’re such a freak Nealer,” Brad scolds and tweaks his wrist enough that James is forced to put the phone down and concentrate on not coming. “You fucking love it,” James rasps into his ear when he finally breaks and has to lay back down. At least it forces Brad to stop touching his cock, he doesn’t want this to end yet.

James falls apart pretty fast once Brad gets a rhythm. All the egos and anxieties and anger melt into a mess of whines and moans and “Fucks.” He lets all of the noises out, head thrown back and mouth open as Brad hits every note just right. “I can’t,” he grits out, knowing that Brad will understand. “I got you,” Brad repeats and slides a hand between so he can stroke James through his orgasm. He keeps the other hand holding tight to the winger’s hip as he bows up when it rips through him. Brad soothes up and down James’ abs, pushing the come across the quivering muscles before the younger man collapses back down onto him. It only takes a few more rapid thrusts and Brad is following James over the precipice, coming sheathed deep inside that tight heat. 

Brad slides out gently and disappears into the bathroom even though he’s slightly unsteady on his feet still. James had forgotten about the awkwardness of getting rid of the condom. He’s a little surprised when Brad comes back with a damp towel and cleans the come off and lube off his red and tingling skin. “Thanks,” he mumbles, cheeks flaming. 

“Stay the night?” Brad asks as he climbs back into the bed and next to James. The younger man nods weakly. He can’t even think about leaving, he is so wiped that he’d probably end up asleep in a taxi back in Brooklyn somewhere if he didn’t pass out in the elevator first. James pulls himself closer to Brad and pillows his head on his chest in the flat plane where shoulder meets chest. They lay silently, listening to the city that never sleeps and their own thoughts for a long time.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” James whispers into the silence. Brad stirs a little and shifts so that he can see James looking up at him. “I nearly called you the night. . .you got hit.” James feels Brad’s voice break and he has to swallow the lump in his own throat. “I don’t remember it,” James supplies and looks away. He hasn’t talked to anyone about that night really, not even Brenden. Brad doesn’t say anything; he just strokes down James’ arm and then interlaces their fingers. “I was going to throw down the gloves myself, but I wasn’t sure if we’d get the extra penalty or not." Brad says it a soft laugh, but James can hear the worry still embedded deep inside his friend. “You were on the ice?” James feels him nod. “So was Mo,” Brad adds. He feels a harsh pang throb in his chest. “We are something,” James murmurs, stumbling over the words a bit, “Brenden and I.” 

“I know.” 

They don’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be my attempt at more porn than plot. . .
> 
> More angst and feels to come I guess, hahaha.


End file.
